I Run to You
by The Irish Lass
Summary: Set after 11X10. Sam has always been able to reach out to Dean for comfort. At least, until the angel possession. After that, a wall built itself between them, and Sam wasn't able to reach out. He regrets that now.
So, this idea came to me after I saw The Devil in the Details. Sam seemed petrified when he saw Lucifer, and you don't forget a trama like that. So this is set after 11X10. And I wanted some brotherly cuddles.

When Sam was little, he never paused to reach for comfort. His nightmares were soothed away by a tired preteen who put aside his own rest to comfort his sniffling and somewhat soggy little brother. If Sam skinned his knees, he would only have to wail Dean's name to have his injury healed. When he was sulking because Dad put the hunt before all else again, he could curl up beside his brother on the couch and watch Ghostbusters with his head in Dean's lap.

As Sam got older, he began to feel the tug to pull away from Dean, to tough things out on his own. After all, Dean had managed, so Sam could too. But if the problem was too large, Sam could always count on Dean to make it better, even erase it.

And then Sam left for Stanford, and there was no one to soothe away his fears of failing, of finding a hunt, of not finding a hunt. Jess found him then, and became his support. She wasn't the same though. She wasn't a protecter, not someone he could tell about the nightmares that sometimes came true.

But Sam was hurled back into the hunting world. Dean became his protecter once more, staying up long nights to pet Sam's hair and listen to him babble about Jess, the demon, and Dad. If Sam wanted comfort, Dean was just an arm-reach away. He could sit down with a beer and a bad movie and listen to Dean's commentary. When the vision induced migraines struck, he could count on Dean to stroke his hair and close the curtains to block out the got to the point where Sam could feel himself relaxing when he saw Dean. Big Brother was back. Nothing could happen.

Of course Dean got the bright idea to sell his ever living soul right after that. Sam wanted to cry. And possible smack his dumbass older brother. The year dwindled away, and finally, Sam was left alone again.

So of course when e got Dean back he clung like that octopus he saw at Seaworld when he was in sixth grade. He couldn't rely on Dean for the same comfort, not anymore. He had left once, he might vanish again. But Dean was still there to fall back on. Sam was still protected. Safe.

Then came the Cage. A place where Dean wouldn't, couldn't, follow. 180 years alone, at the mercy of a fallen angel. No chance of comfort for years and years and years. By some miracle, he was found worthy to come back to Earth, back to Dean. Back to love and comfort and protection.

It slipped through his fingers in a starburst of black goo. Sam hoped Dean went to Heaven, left him alone to enjoy the eternal loop of his best memories. Wondered if he was in any of them. Tried to keep from going postal.

Dean returned, an angry warrior. Not the defender Sam had craved for the year (eternity) they had been apart, but a vengeful, callous, disgusted-at-Sam warrior. Sam couldn't believe how stupid he was. Heaven? They were Winchesters. There was no salvation for them.

But the trials came, and Dean was there for him again. Practically tucking him in every night, smothering, worried, wonderful Dean. The same Dean betrayed him, let an angel take over him because he was afraid of being alone. Sam wanted to scream. Dean had left him alone so, so many times. Couldn't Sam just... Go? Be somewhere Dean would never abandon him again? So Sam left, before Dean could. He came back, less than a few months later, but he had left. Left Dean to see what it felt like to be abandoned. Ignored the twitching conscious that reminded him that he had left Dean before anyway.

A wall had built itself between them after that. Sometimes Sam thought it was good. There was distance now. Maybe next time one of them died, they wouldn't go crazy. Maybe even avoid the Hunter's Necromancy badge that he was surprised they didn't have yet. Another part of him rebelled, tried to tear away the wall, only to be tamped down.

Right now, Sam was wishing he had listened to it.

Fire, blood, screams, pain died slowly away as he woke up, gasping, jack-knifing up in his bed, knife in hand. As if though it would be any use again the memories of the Cage.

It isn't real. It isn't real. Not any moore. Sam chanted to himself, shuddering against the memories of the tearing, ripping, piercing, agonizing pain. He escaped. He did. Dean and Death and Castiel had broken him out. He was safe, in a world exquisitely free from pain.

He was. Wasn't he?

His room was exactly the same as he remembered it. Red brick walls, sink by the door, blue plaid comforter twisted around his legs. His room, in the bunker. Not a motel room. Not Bobby's house. His room. Lucifer had never used it to torture him. He hadn't known it existed.

But did he know now? He could read Sam's mind. He always could. and Sam had gotten dangerously close to being dragged back down with him, less than a week ago. What if he did know? What if he had taken Sam, but let him think he was still safe? He had done it before. The first time he let Sam think for days on end tha he was still alive, still with Dean, if only for the pleasure of ripping the rug out from under Sam's feet again.

Sam pushed his hair out of his eyes, tossing the covers aside. There was only one way to be sure. There was only one way to know he was still here, on Earth, away from Lucifer.

Trembling, he stood up, fingers clenching around the knife. It wouldn't be any use, not if this was really Lucifer's type of hallucinations, but it made Sam feel better. It was something to keep a hold of, at any rate.

He padded down the hall, jumping at every shadow, his heart pounding. If Dean wasn't there... If he wasn't it, this was all a lie. Sam could leave this dream world and go back to the cage, where at least he wasn't lied to.

Mouth dry, Sam stopped in front of Dean's door, open just a crack to let in the heat from the radiators in the hall. Just like Sam remembered. hesitantly, he pushed out a shaking hand, swinging the door open. He relaxed, relieved.

Dean's soft breathing filled the room. Sam sat down hard on the floor. He wasn't in Hell. He wasn't. Dean was here. He was safe. He wasn't going to get ripped to pieces agin.

Something wet trickled down his cheek, and got caught in his five o'clock shadow, It was itchy. Not painful, but mildly irritating. Sam sobbed in relief. he was safe.

"Sam?" The lump on Dean's bed stirred. Sam squeezed his eyes shut. He hadn't meant to wake Dean up. He just wanted to make sure he was out of hell. Safe from Lucifer, and his twisted evil.

"Ah..." His words caught in his throat, then broke free. "Yeah, sorry, dude." He swallowed, rubbing at his face and getting off the floor. "I'm just gonna-" He choked on his relief. He was safe. He wasn't in Hell. Dean was here.

To his horror, Dean's sleep spiked hair emerged, his older brother propping himself up in bed and reaching for the bedside lamp. "You okay, man?" Dean paused, hand frozen around the lamp switch as he stared at his little brother. His little brother, who was sprawled on the floor, knife clenched in one fist and tears dripping off his nose.

"Hey." Dean slid out of bed to drop into a crouch beside Sam. Of course. It was stupid to think Sam could go anywhere near Lucifer and not end up with debilitating nightmares. Dean still got them, and his hell had been a far shorter and less intense stay than Sam's. "Hey, it's okay." He reached out and tugged at the knife.

Sam whimpered, fingers clenching tighter around the handle.

"No, it's cool, dude." Dean gave up on the knife, instead grabbing a kleenex from the table. He swiped at Sam's face, only to have him flinch back. "That bad, huh?" Dean's heart sank. When Sam rejected him after a nightmare, it might take hours to get him back.

"C'mon." Dean settled down, wincing as his knees protested. "It's okay." Sam sobbed, and Dean wanted to join him.

It wasn't okay. Not in the slightest. It wasn't okay that Sam had suffered for centuries, only to have nightmares and more world-saving for the rest of his life.

Sam reached out to him, fist curling to grasp a handful of Dean's shirt. He shuddered. "Sorry."

"'Bout what?"

"Sorry I woke you up." Sam scooted closer, his grip on the knife loosening.

"Mm." Dean nodded. "It's no big deal."

Sam inched closer, until Dean could feel the body heat radiating off of him. "Can I- can I stay? J-just a little bit?" he asked hesitantly, head ducked down. He didn't want to see Dean refuse. He didn't want to see the wall come up.

Dean's voice was a welcome rumble. "Yeah, Sam. Of course."


End file.
